


The Witch-Boy

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Familiars, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac remembers when the witch-boy came to town. He doesn't remember when he fell in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Witch-Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefaceofno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefaceofno/gifts).



> Dear Jay - I hope you like the fic and that you have a lovely end to your year and a wonderful 2015!

Courfeyrac remembers when the witch-boy came to town. 

It was a full moon night, the kind that spoke of wonders from beyond this world, the gleaming disc in the sky warning people to stay indoors. On nights like these, the pale light shone the path for beings that played by different rules, whose hearts danced to a different beat. It meant _danger_ , and it meant being shut indoors for the night because adults always feared what they couldn't understand. 

There was an empty space in the market square; a rundown shack that had once belonged to a fortune teller. The light of the new morning saw the shack repurposed, broken boards fixed and gleaming as if they'd been polished. It was a home and a shop, as all other buildings in the market square were, and it was there that the witch-boy began. 

Courfeyrac remembers being a curious child, sneaking out when his parents' backs were turned, meeting Enjolras by the corner and heading for the market square to see for themselves. He remembers ducking past adults, laughter and half-hearted apologies trailing behind them as they ran to investigate what had become of the shack. 

They found it had been redecorated so much that it could no longer be called a shack at all. There was a hand-painted sign above the door that read _Apothecary_ and the window that Bahorel smashed last year was fixed. Looking in, they saw the witch-boy surrounded by jars and herbs, unflinchingly holding conversations with the adults that had come to turn him away. 

The witch-boy was Courfeyrac's age, with brown skin and big glasses. He had black hair and a black cat that was small enough to curl into a ball on his shoulder. He was the first witch the town had seen in centuries, and Courfeyrac hoped that the tales weren't true, that the witch-boy wouldn't be burned for his troubles. 

From what Courfeyrac could gather, listening to the idle gossip of those who walked past, the witch-boy would be lucky to last a week.

«·»

It's Courfeyrac's birthday and that means one thing: cake. He gets out of bed, legs tangling in his sheets in his excitement, stumbling across his room and laughing at himself as he goes. He gets showered and dresses quickly, fussing at his hair a little more than necessary before leaving the house.

The hour is still early and the market square is quiet, all of the shops closed except for the bakery. Courfeyrac walks past it, breathing in the scent of fresh, warm bread as he walks to the apothecary. It's a two-storey building now, with boxes of plants on the balcony and on every windowsill. In the ten years since it first began, it has quickly become one of the most popular places in town, selling ointments and potions to heal all ailments, recommended by the town doctor. 

Like most of the other buildings in the market square, there is a sign on the door declaring that the shop is closed. Courfeyrac reaches for the handle anyway, knowing that it's enchanted to unlock for friends. He pushes the door open and lets himself in quietly, shutting the door behind him.

"No, Ink, you said you were going to _help_. I don't think that eating the icing really counts. Come over here, I think I've lost my small piping nozzle."

Courfeyrac grins, walking towards the voice, through the shop front and down the narrow hall to the kitchen. There are three cakes sitting on the counter, two of them already decorated. From what he can tell, his presence hasn't been noticed yet.

"Yes, I _know_ that three cakes might be a little excessive but at least he'll like them and I…" Ink catches Courfeyrac in the doorway but makes no mention of it, because Combeferre continues talking. "I just want to make sure he likes them, alright? Yes, I know you think that would be easier, but I'm not going to do that. You know I'm not, so you can stop suggesting it."

Leaning against the doorjamb, Courfeyrac clears his throat. "Good morning, witch-boy."

Combeferre turns around in surprise, then glares at the black cat sitting comfortably on the counter. "I _told_ you to warn me. I knew I should have chosen a dog for a familiar instead."

Ink meows sharply in reply, jumping off the counter and crossing the kitchen, twining her way around Courfeyrac's leg.

"Don't you worry, we both know that he's too fond of you to actually mean that," Courfeyrac murmurs to Ink as she purrs up at him.

" _Ink_ ," Combeferre says sharply, presumably in response to something she's said that Courfeyrac doesn't have the magic to understand. "Alright, that's enough. Perhaps I can have a chance to greet my friend too?"

Before Courfeyrac can quite prepare himself for it, he's being wrapped in a tight hug and pulled against Combeferre's chest.

"Happy birthday," Combeferre murmurs, and Courfeyrac is perfectly content to stay right where he is, pressing his nose into Combeferre's neck. Combeferre's arms are strong and always more muscled than Courfeyrac expects them to be. 

Combeferre honestly has no right to be as solidly built as he is, when he's just the town apothecary but in reality, he's always been so much more than that. He's never liked using his magic to make things easy when he's capable of doing it himself and that extends to helping others. He's helped Bahorel chop wood for the winter, he's helped Feuilly fix buildings, he's helped Joly transport patients too weak to move on their own and over the years, he's made himself indispensable to the town. He's worked with Courfeyrac and Enjolras to draft policies to be brought forward to the town council, and the three of them have been close friends ever since the day Combeferre first arrived.

"Enjolras should be here soon," Combeferre says as their hug stretches for longer than strictly necessary, though neither of them make any effort to extricate themselves. "Ink can keep an eye out for him."

With a soft meow, Ink makes her way to the front shop area, to settle into her usual place by the window to watch the comings and goings of the townsfolk in the market square.

"Three cakes for three people?" Courfeyrac asks, looking up at Combeferre with a grin. "That _is_ a little excessive, you know."

"I wanted it to be perfect," Combeferre replies quietly. "I just… couldn't decide what perfect meant, I guess."

Courfeyrac laughs, a rush of fondness hitting him so hard that he needs to pull away from Combeferre, reminding himself not to overstep their boundary as friends. "Believe me, whatever you would have made would be perfect to me. I promise you."

Combeferre smiles at him. "I'm glad."

Ink meows loudly, which means that Enjolras is approaching. Combeferre takes a step away, turning around to get some plates out.

"I know that starting the day with cake probably isn't the best idea…"

"You're kidding, right?" Courfeyrac laughs. "There is no such thing as a bad time to eat cake. We've known each other for _years_ , Combeferre. I thought I would have taught you that by now."

There's a knock on the front door before they hear it open. Ink meows loudly in greeting and they can hear his fond laugh before he walks in, the cat curled on his shoulder.

"Happy birthday." Enjolras smiles at Courfeyrac, giving him a wrapped package. "Combeferre… did you make _three_ cakes?"

With a soft, embarrassed laugh, Combeferre looks at the three of them. "I made a blueberry cheesecake, a strawberries and cream sponge cake and a chocolate mud cake. I couldn't decide on one."

Enjolras simply raises an eyebrow, and Combeferre looks even more flustered.

"I don't think that I'd be able to decide either," Courfeyrac comments. "I don't even know which one I want to try first."

"We'll cut them into small slices," Enjolras decides, "so we can have all three."

"I'll invite everyone over tonight after work," Combeferre adds. "I'm sure that between all of us, we'll get through the cakes."

"We need to get going to work soon anyway," Enjolras points out, picking up one of the knives and helping Combeferre cut them up. "Courfeyrac, you can open your present while we cut the cakes."

"And you'll get your present from me later," Combeferre adds. 

"I thought the cakes were my present." Courfeyrac frowns. "You really don't have to get me anything else, you know—"

"Well, it's already done," Combeferre tells him, smiling. "Or nearly done, anyway. You'll have to deal with it."

Courfeyrac pouts down at his present as he unwraps it, but his eyes widen once the paper falls away and he sees the writing set that he's been eyeing for the last few months. There's a beautifully crafted fountain pen, an ink well and a notebook all neatly wrapped together. He barely has the time to put them down on a table before throwing his arms around Enjolras in a tight hug.

"I've been looking at these for so long!" Courfeyrac exclaims. "You're the best, Enjolras. Equal best with Combeferre." 

"I can live with that," Enjolras replies, smiling fondly as he hugs Courfeyrac in return. "I'm glad you like it."

"And you," Courfeyrac says as Combeferre hands him a plate with three thin slices of cake on it. "Don't get me started on how wonderful and thoughtful you are." 

"Please _don't_ get started." There's a smile tugging at Combeferre's lips but he looks embarrassed. "I'm really not good at taking compliments."

"I know," Courfeyrac replies, "which is why I make sure to let you know just how much you're appreciated, because you need to hear it anyway."

"Cakes." Pushing the plate into Courfeyrac's hands, Combeferre clears his throat. "As Enjolras says, you both need to get to the council building, and I need to start opening my shop. I have a visitor coming today, do you mind if I invite them to the party later tonight as well?"

"You know I'm always happy to meet new people," Courfeyrac replies. "Of course they're welcome. Especially if it's at your place. You don't have to ask me." 

"Yes, well," Combeferre trails off, pausing for a moment as he watches Courfeyrac take his first bite, cutting up small pieces of each cake and spearing all three of them with his fork to try them at once. "…Courfeyrac. I'm not sure that's a good idea." 

It's really not, but Courfeyrac doesn't mind. He tries them all individually, finding that they're all delicious. As to be expected. "You've outdone yourself this year, Combeferre. I'm pretty sure that you're better at making cakes than the actual baker of this town."

"Don't say that too loud," Enjolras mutters. "I know that she's still trying to get Combeferre's muffin recipe since the last town fair."

Combeferre smiles, in his quiet, threatening way. "Let her try." 

"You're terrifying," Courfeyrac says fondly. "I love it."

Ducking his head, Combeferre only looks even more embarrassed by it. He looks over at Enjolras, and Courfeyrac knows better than to be jealous of the fact that they can communicate without words because he knows that all three of them can do it amongst themselves, but he can't help but feel that he's missing something and it makes him feel odd. Whatever it is though, it seems to make Combeferre even more uncomfortable, so Courfeyrac decides not to push. 

They finish their cakes quickly so that they can leave for work and Combeferre allows himself to use magic to clean up after them and pack away all of the baking tools cluttering the bench.

"I'll see you later, okay?" Combeferre pulls him into one last hug. "Have a good day. Happy birthday again."

"Thank you," Courfeyrac stands on his tiptoes and presses a kiss to Combeferre's cheek before he can second guess himself. "For the cakes, for the wonderful morning, for everything." 

Combeferre pulls away with a stunned look, but it's quickly replaced by a genuine smile that eases the sudden clawing fear that Courfeyrac has pushed their friendship too far. "You're more than welcome."

"Courfeyrac," Enjolras calls, already half way out the door. 

"See you later," Courfeyrac says and it feels like his face is burning as he turns around to follow Enjolras out, his lips tingling where they brushed against Combeferre's stubble.

«·»

By the time they finish work, Courfeyrac is still finding himself distracted by the memory of his lips against Combeferre's cheek. Enjolras doesn't know about it, and Courfeyrac makes sure to keep it that way. The three of them are close friends and Courfeyrac doesn't like the thought of dragging Enjolras into the middle of something like this. He doesn't even know how to separate his feelings for Combeferre into what is platonic and what isn't, barely knows how to explain his feelings to himself, let alone to Enjolras or worse, to Combeferre. All he knows is that there's an invisible line between himself and Combeferre that he's become very good at treading. It's probably best to keep it that way.

There's still another hour until Combeferre closes the apothecary and Courfeyrac takes the time to make sure that he looks as presentable as possible for the party later. 

He manages to kill half an hour before he starts getting restless. It's not even about the party, as much as Courfeyrac _is_ looking forward to all of them being together. This has everything to do with Combeferre and most of the time, Courfeyrac has a better handle on his feelings than this but then again, _most_ of the time, Courfeyrac hasn't spent the entire day thinking about kissing Combeferre.

Enjolras lives a short distance away from Courfeyrac, so he stops there first. When he knocks, Enjolras answers the door almost immediately, not looking the least bit surprised to find Courfeyrac standing there.

"Are we heading to Combeferre's place, then?" Enjolras asks, already beginning to lock up without waiting for an answer.

"I'm sure he won't mind us showing up a little early," Courfeyrac tells him. "We can even help him close up. That's always fun."

"The last time we helped Combeferre close up, I almost lost a finger to one of the flytraps."

Courfeyrac grins. "Part of the fun. She was scared and didn't know that you were a friend! It happens."

"Not with any other plant I've encountered. Non-magical plants don't try to take chunks out of me. You can help Combeferre if you want, but I think I'd rather leave the plant-handling to those who have the proper experience."

"Combeferre can teach you," Courfeyrac says as they walk towards the market square "He taught me all about the different plants he grows and how to handle them. The ivy is very affectionate—it's actually really cute. And all of the plants are really happy to give him leaves and berries and whatever else he needs for his potions. It must be so nice to have magic and to be able to communicate with all kinds of things."

"There must be rules that you have to follow, though," Enjolras replies. "Rules that aren't always pleasant."

Courfeyrac remembers when they were young and Combeferre was new to town. Combeferre explained to them that part of his training to become a full-fledged magic practitioner was to find his own place to set up and contribute to the local community without any support from his family or anyone else back in his home town. Combeferre hasn't seen his mother since he was fifteen and it's impossible to miss the wistful look in his eyes whenever he speaks of her. Courfeyrac can't imagine what it must be like to be away from his family for so long, but he's done his best to make sure that Combeferre has the closest thing to a family as possible right here, with all of their friends.

When they get to the apothecary, they're met with the usual crowd at the end of the day, rushing to get whatever they need before the shop closes. Courfeyrac is the first to spot the stranger sitting on the bench just outside the door, a large black crow sitting on their shoulder.

"Courfeyrac?" Enjolras asks when he slows down.

The stranger looks up, meeting Courfeyrac's gaze, and smiles. When they speak, their voice is soft, almost musical. "You're Courfeyrac, then. Combeferre told me that you would be early."

"And you're the guest he mentioned earlier this morning," Courfeyrac concludes, holding a hand out. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise. My name is Jehan. I'm told that birthday greetings are in order." With a circular motion in the air, Jehan produces a small box, holding it out to Courfeyrac. "He told me that a present isn't necessary because I'm his guest, but I don't believe in turning up to birthdays empty-handed."

"Thank you," Courfeyrac says, taking the box. "But you know you really didn't have to."

Jehan smiles in reply. "Yes I do. Thank you for accepting it all the same."

Enjolras introduces himself to Jehan as Courfeyrac opens the box, finding a stone pendant on a thin black rope. There's a rune carved onto the surface of it that glows a faint blue when Courfeyrac brushes his thumb over it.

"It's a protection rune," Jehan tells him, as Courfeyrac puts it on. "They don't work unless they're carved on the right kind of stone but Edgar here has a hobby of collecting them, so I always have a few on hand that I'm more than happy to turn into talismans. If you're interested in any other runes, just let me know. I figured protection was a good place to start."

"I appreciate it," Courfeyrac says, smiling as he tucks it under his shirt.

"Combeferre told me to bring you inside once you arrive," Jehan says, turning around to lead the way. "He mentioned that you might want to help him close up, Courfeyrac. He said that you're good with the plants."

"Did he?" Courfeyrac beams, turning to Enjolras with a raised eyebrow, getting an amused look in return. "That's great. I'll definitely help him."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it," Enjolras murmurs as Combeferre waves at them on their way through the shop front and to the actual house.

"So, Jehan, I take it you're a magic practitioner like Combeferre?" Courfeyrac asks, watching Edgar flap over to where Ink is dozing in a patch of orange light from the setting sun.

"That's correct. I left home much earlier than Combeferre did, so I've been practicing longer than he has. I've been travelling for a while and he wanted to know if I'd help out with his apothecary. This is a lovely town and he's very well-liked from what I can see. I'm more than happy to stay for a while and give him my assistance. He's already set the guest room up for me, and I think Edgar and Ink are very happy to see each other again."

Courfeyrac looks over to where the cat and crow are snuggled against each other, happy to stay where they are even as the sunlight fades. "So you know each other form when you were younger? Did you come from the same hometown?"

Jehan smiles brightly. "We did. Our hometown is a large magical community and I remember Combeferre still had his head in his books, wanting to learn the theory behind everything when I was ready to leave and learn through practical experience. We got our familiars around the same time, so they were friends for quite a while."

"It must be nice for all of you to see each other again after so long," Courfeyrac murmurs. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone else, I'm sure they'll all love you."

"Courfeyrac?" Combeferre calls from the shop.

"Coming!" Courfeyrac replies before turning back to Jehan with a grin. "I'll be back soon."

«·»

Closing up the shop would go a lot faster if not for the fact that Combeferre and Courfeyrac keep getting distracted. Combeferre is clearly fond of his plants, smiling as their vines curl loosely around his wrists as he moves their pots inside, to their positions for the night.

"You see the plant beside you?" Combeferre asks, glancing over his shoulder at Courfeyrac. "The one with the red flowers? Stroke your finger along the stalk."

Courfeyrac does, gasping as the colours of the petals grow dark purple, then blue, then slowly back to red. "Wow."

"The petals have different magical properties depending on which colour they are when plucked," Combeferre explains. He grins, looking pleased with himself. "These plants need to be pollinated a certain way for the magic to actually hold or otherwise, it's just an ordinary plant. I'm not very good at negotiating with butterflies, but I get along with the local moths pretty well and they put in a good word for me. In return, I'm putting out a dish of sugar water for them, and Ink's promised not to chase them any more. She's not too happy about that."

Courfeyrac laughs. "Poor thing. I'll have to make sure to bring some new toys for her the next time I come over."

"You're already her favourite by far," Combeferre points out with a fond smile. "At this rate, the rest of us have no hope of ever catching up."

"I'd let you catch up, maybe," Courfeyrac says graciously. "I'd let us both be equal favourites. She's your familiar after all."

"How very generous of you." Combeferre bumps their shoulders together with a grin.

"That's me," Courfeyrac declares. "King, generous Courfeyrac, loved by cats everywhere. Magical or otherwise."

Combeferre's expression softens as he looks at Courfeyrac. "To be honest, that sounds pretty accurate."

Courfeyrac feels his face grow warm and Combeferre bites his lip in a poor attempt to hide his grin, averting his eyes.

"Um." Courfeyrac clears his throat in a moment of fleeting courage, looking at Combeferre until he looks back. "You know—"

"Are you still not finished closing up?" Jehan asks, looking around the corner, making them both jump. "I think everyone has arrived."

Sure enough, the rest of their friends are standing with Jehan and Enjolras. Courfeyrac's face grows even warmer, knowing that he and Combeferre had been too distracted to notice any of them walking in through the front of the shop.

"Aw, you should have left them to it." Bahorel nudges Jehan with a grin. "See how long it would have taken them to realise that the rest of us were here."

"If they noticed at all," Feuilly adds, smiling as well. "Seems to me that they were perfectly happy in their own world."

"You're not allowed to tease me on my birthday," Courfeyrac tells them. "That's rude."

"Are you kidding?" Joly laughs. "You'd deprive us of our favourite source of entertainment?"

Courfeyrac scrunches up his nose. "You're all terrible people."

"But we're _your_ terrible people." Bahorel winks. "Happy birthday. I came here for the cake but I'm staying for the cute witch."

Jehan blushes, but doesn't seem to mind at all. Combeferre grins at that, raising an eyebrow at Jehan, who in turn blushes even harder.

"So, I take it you've all met Jehan by now. As Bahorel so eloquently put it, you're here for the cake—and for Courfeyrac's birthday. I figure that the cake is as good a starting point as any."

Combeferre's kitchen is not particularly big, so instead of everyone trying to squeeze into it, they sit in the lounge room while Combeferre brings the cakes out and Ink makes her rounds, greeting everyone and demanding to be petted. She saves Courfeyrac for last, settling into his lap and purring contently as he scratches her head. Edgar has perched himself on Bahorel's knee and is having a one-sided conversation with him that only Jehan can understand. Judging by the laughter, Courfeyrac wishes he could understand as well.

"I'm being threatened by a bird, aren't I?" Bahorel asks. "Which is kind of a serious thing. You could peck my eyes out. I get it. I'm already a little terrified."

Jehan laughs even harder. "Don't give him ideas. The worst he'll do is leave worms on your pillow. Maybe stones. He's never been one for picking fights."

"I heard that crows are very intelligent," Bahorel says, carefully reaching out to stroke his fingers over the bird's back. "I'm sure we'll get along. Good bird."

Edgar caws in reply and Jehan gives them both a fond smile. Ink purrs again from her position in Courfeyrac's lap, snuggling against him even more.

Jehan's gaze flicks over to Ink and Courfeyrac catches the movement, clearing his throat. "Do you understand other people's familiars as well?"

Jehan's eyes go wide. "Um—yes. But it's generally considered rude to translate someone else's familiar. Their words aren't mine to share with those who don't understand. Not unless there's danger that another familiar is bringing warning of."

"Are familiars always black?" Feuilly asks, watching as Edgar makes himself comfortable on Bahorel's knee.

"Traditionally, yes. In reality, it makes no difference if you have a black familiar or a colourful one. I was actually considering taking a parrot for mine, but then I met Edgar and I knew no other would do."

"Is that how Combeferre felt when he saw you?" Courfeyrac wonders aloud, stroking Ink's back.

She looks up at him and meows in reply. Combeferre picks that moment to enter the room, clearing his throat. "Well, yes. The bond between our familiars and us is very important. It helps to start with a familiar you've already clicked with, at some level."

He's carrying a large tray and he sets it down on the coffee table in the middle of the room, all three of the cakes sliced neatly with tongs ready to pick them up.

Bahorel lets out a low whistle. "Just for reference, my birthday's in three months."

"Went a little overboard, did you?" Jehan asks, giving Combeferre a look with some hidden meaning that Courfeyrac misses, but seems to make Combeferre a little uncomfortable.

"Just a bit," Combeferre replies. "Ink, let Courfeyrac get up, please."

Ink reluctantly gets out of Courfeyrac's lap, curling up against his side instead. Combeferre sits on her other side and Courfeyrac finds himself wishing that she'd stayed in his lap after all, because that would mean their sides would be pressed against each other.

"Ink," Combeferre says warily as she shifts and then jumps off the couch. She simply looks up at him before curling up under the coffee table instead.

From across the room, Jehan laughs softly. It's odd to have someone else around who can understand what Ink is saying, and Courfeyrac tries to ignore the jealousy twisting in his gut. He doesn't have to share _everything_ with Combeferre and this is an entire world that he isn't part of. It's fine. He's not going to let it bother him.

It bothers him.

Except then Combeferre shuffles closer, resettling on their couch with their sides pressed against each other. It's a small thing, but it immediately makes Courfeyrac feel better.

"So," Combeferre says, looking around the room with a smile. "Let's get started on these cakes, shall we?"

«·»

It's late by the time everyone starts heading home. They don't have work tomorrow, which Courfeyrac is thankful for because it's well past midnight already. He and Enjolras have stayed back to help Combeferre and Jehan tidy up and it's slow work, with all of them yawning as they go.

In the end, Combeferre sighs and gestures at the room. "Okay, forget this. Magic is much quicker."

The room begins to right itself, chairs returning to their proper places, dirty plates stacking themselves and floating off towards the kitchen. The birthday presents Courfeyrac received from everyone are piled neatly on the coffee table in the middle of the room and Combeferre nods to himself, looking satisfied.

"I know that look," Jehan murmurs. "That's the look of someone who hasn't used magic to clean in a very long time and forgot just how convenient it is."

"I prefer doing things by hand," Combeferre replies. "I'm just too tired for that right now."

"You're lucky you have the _option_ ," Courfeyrac says around a big yawn. "I'm going to sleep on your couch, okay?"

"I'm taking your other couch," Enjolras adds, and they help Combeferre pull out the spare pillows and blankets before finally going to sleep.

When Courfeyrac wakes up the next morning, he finds Ink pawing at his shoulder. Enjolras is still fast asleep and Courfeyrac sits up, hugging her to his chest.

"Good morning," he murmurs, smiling as Ink nuzzles against his face with a low purr.

He realises after a moment that Combeferre and Jehan are already awake, their conversation faint from the other room. Courfeyrac doesn't actively try to listen, but he catches Jehan's disapproving tone all the same.

"Have you told anyone? Have you told _him_?"

Combeferre's voice is softer when he replies, "No. I haven't told anyone and especially not him. I don't even know what to say."

"The longer you leave it, the worse it's going to be. Remember that, won't you?"

Combeferre sighs heavily. "Yeah. I will."

Ink paws at Courfeyrac again, more insistently this time.

"I wasn't eavesdropping," he whispers, scratching his fingers through her short fur. "I wasn't _trying_ to listen."

He doesn't even know what they're talking about but whatever it is, it doesn't sound good. Courfeyrac tries to distract himself so he doesn't dwell on it, sorting through his small pile of presents. 

Bahorel and Feuilly pooled their money together to get Courfeyrac a new coat, while Joly and Bossuet bought Courfeyrac a hat. It's tall and striped, with a blue ribbon wrapped around it, and Courfeyrac absolutely adores it. Combeferre's present sits in the middle of the pile and Courfeyrac runs his fingers over the smooth curves of the teapot. Combeferre had it commissioned from Feuilly and his handiwork is clear in the fine detail and the hand-painted decoration on the side—a black cat that resembles Ink. Combeferre's contribution is an enchantment on the teapot itself; once Courfeyrac brews tea in it, the pot will remain full and warm for as long as Courfeyrac wants it. Judging from Jehan's reaction to it last night, the magic involved is incredibly complex. Courfeyrac smiles at the pot, his smile growing wider as Ink climbs up onto the table to inspect it.

"Look." He traces the painting of the cat with his index. "It's you. Maybe I should call this my Ink pot, hm? Do you like that?"

Ink meows at him, which Courfeyrac takes for approval.

"Keep it down, Ink, you're going to wake—oh." Combeferre stops by the entrance of the room. "Courfeyrac. You're up early."

Courfeyrac smiles up at him. "So are you. I'm looking forward to trying my new teapot out, but I think I need coffee right now."

"Jehan was just helping me make some," Combeferre replies.

"I'll help make breakfast then," Courfeyrac decides, getting up.

"I'll meet you in the kitchen. I just need to speak with Ink for a moment." Combeferre has his gaze fixed on her and Courfeyrac wonders if this has anything to do with what he heard before, but he knows better than to ask.

Jehan is in the kitchen, singing while Edgar is perched on the bench, cawing in places. From what Courfeyrac can tell, the singing is part of Jehan's magic, because there is a bubbling pot of concentrated coffee and a bowl of milk being whisked into a froth all on its own.

"Good morning!" Jehan greets, pouring the coffee and milk into four mugs. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, and you?" Courfeyrac gets the frying pan out of the cupboard and the eggs from their basket on the kitchen counter.

"Oh, you cook!" Jehan exclaims, watching as Courfeyrac scrambles the eggs and starts cutting up the fresh loaf of bread sitting by the egg basket.

"Combeferre taught me," Courfeyrac replies. "He's a very good teacher."

"That doesn't surprise me at all," Jehan smiles, handing Courfeyrac a mug of coffee. "I haven't added any sugar."

Courfeyrac reaches for the sugar bowl, putting two heaped spoons in. "Now it's perfect."

Combeferre walks into the kitchen, followed by a very sleepy Enjolras. "I see you've taken care of everything between the two of you. I feel like a great host."

"We've got your back," Courfeyrac replies, picking up a coffee mug without any sugar in it and handing it to Enjolras, who mumbles his appreciation. He mixes a spoon of sugar into another and gives it to Combeferre. "Sit down and I'll bring breakfast out."

Courfeyrac loves eating meals together. He, Enjolras and Combeferre do it as often as possible and Jehan is a welcome addition to their group. None of them need to rush off to do anything and so they take their time, enjoying each other's company.

Jehan, having known Combeferre from a young age, is full of stories and delights in sharing them, painting a picture of a young, awkward boy who was much too serious. Courfeyrac can imagine it—he remembers it, from Combeferre's first few months in town when they were young. He remembers each smile he'd drawn out of Combeferre felt like a victory, and it's world away from what he's like now.

"You've been good for him," Jehan says with a warm smile. "Combeferre would sent me letters to keep me updated and he always mentioned the two of you, from the very beginning. I'm glad that he found such wonderful people—all of your friends are lovely. I'm looking forward to staying here for a while."

"We're all glad to have you here," Courfeyrac replies and then with a grin, he adds, "Bahorel is probably the happiest."

Jehan beams at that. "He invited me over for lunch later today. He seems…"

"Your exact type," Combeferre finishes for Jehan, grinning. "No, really. I know Bahorel well. You'll like him. You already do."

"Edgar seems to like him too," Courfeyrac adds. "That's probably important, right?"

Exchanging a look with Combeferre, Jehan smiles at Courfeyrac. "Definitely. Sometimes, our familiars even pick up on our feelings before we do. It can be pretty interesting, how that works."

"Yeah?" Courfeyrac tries not to think about Ink and how well he gets along with her. He's happy enough being her favourite without any additional meaning attached to it. He's not going to overthink this, tempting as it might be.

«·»

A month passes quickly, and then another, which finds Jehan settling into the town well. Combeferre certainly benefits from having the help around the apothecary, looking much more relaxed and rested now that he doesn't have to do everything on his own.

Jehan and Bahorel make falling in love look easy and Courfeyrac would be jealous about it if he weren't so happy instead. Bahorel openly adores Jehan, and they balance each other out nicely. Edgar will sometimes keep Bahorel company as he works and fly back to Jehan with updates, or with plans for them to go out.

It's also been long enough that Courfeyrac has almost entirely forgotten about the conversation he accidentally overheard between Combeferre and Jehan. It's out of his mind most of the time, but then he'll catch Jehan giving Combeferre a meaningful look every now and then that will bring it all back, making him curious.

One evening, nearly two and a half months after Jehan arrived in town, Courfeyrac is over for dinner. Jehan is at Bahorel's place, and Combeferre sits Courfeyrac down after they've finished eating.

"There's something I need to tell you, Courfeyrac."

Combeferre is frowning, not quite meeting Courfeyrac's eyes, which is enough to make him worry. 

"Is everything okay?"

Combeferre's frown deepens, but he looks up and holds Courfeyrac's gaze as he speaks this time. "I really should have told you this sooner… I should have told you this _months_ ago, but I never knew how to say it. I know that's no excuse, but…"

"Combeferre." Courfeyrac reaches out, touching his hand. "Tell me."

Combeferre sighs heavily. "It's coming up on exactly ten years since I arrived here. Just about a week from now."

Courfeyrac smiles, but he can't quite shake the sudden uncertainty that twists in his stomach. "Yeah, you're right."

"I told you this years ago, back when I first arrived, but my training lasts for ten years. We find somewhere to establish ourselves, to develop our magic…"

"I remember."

"I never said, but once those ten years are up, I…" Combeferre pauses, clearly searching for the best words to use. "I have to leave town, and return home."

"You…" Courfeyrac goes cold as he processes what Combeferre is saying. "You're going to leave?"

"I have to return to my hometown once my training is over, to be formally recognised as a magic practitioner in my own rights. I know I should have said something sooner, but—"

"That's why Jehan moved here," Courfeyrac realises, his eyes going wide. "Not to help you with the apothecary but to run it once you leave. You've known all this time—you _planned_ for it, and you didn't think to mention it to me? To Enjolras?"

Combeferre guiltily looks away. "Well…"

"Enjolras knows already, doesn't he?" Courfeyrac can feel the shock and hurt turning into anger. "Who else? Everyone, except for me?"

"Just Enjolras," Combeferre promises. "I only told him last week and I asked him not to tell you. Not until I figured out how to do it myself."

"You should have told me by bringing it up from the very beginning," Courfeyrac snaps. He doesn't know how to do this, how he's going to let Combeferre go, how he's going to deal with the fact that in just over a week, Combeferre will be _gone_.

He can't do this. He can't be here, pretending that he isn't a moment away from falling apart. Shaking his head, he slowly rises to his feet.

"Courfeyrac, please." Combeferre gets up as well, holding his hand out as if to calm Courfeyrac down. "We can talk this through. Please, don't leave."

"Don't leave?" Courfeyrac laughs bitterly. "After all of this, you think that _you_ get to ask me not to leave?"

Combeferre bites his lip and he truly _does_ look sorry. In most situations, Courfeyrac would probably forgive him immediately. This, however, is different.

"If you're going to leave, then leave," Courfeyrac tells him, and walks out of Combeferre's lounge room, out through the shop front and out of the market square entirely.

He means to walk home, but his feet take him to Enjolras' door, his knuckles rapping against the wood so hard that they're red and sore by the time Enjolras answers.

"You knew," Courfeyrac says, only realising that he's on the verge of tears when his voice cracks. "You knew he was going to leave and you didn't tell me, Enjolras, why wouldn't you _tell me_?"

"Oh, Courfeyrac." Enjolras steps forward, pulling Courfeyrac into his arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't think he'd take so long to tell you. I wanted to say something but he begged me not to. He wanted to make sure he had the right words."

"There are no right words," Courfeyrac mutters as his tears begin to spill. "Combeferre's going away and I don't know what to do, Enjolras. I don't know what to do without him."

"I'm going to miss him too," Enjolras murmurs, hugging him tighter. "I'm sorry, Courfeyrac. Do you want to come inside? I'll make some tea."

Courfeyrac nods, sniffling quietly as he wipes his cheeks with the heel of his hand. He curls up on Enjolras' couch, grateful for the large mug of tea and for the way Enjolras sits right beside him with a comforting hand on his back.

"Were you angry at him when he told you?" Courfeyrac asks quietly. "Because I'm so angry right now."

"I was, a little." Enjolras' lips twist into a frown. "I do wish he'd said something sooner. But if I were in his position, I'm not sure what I would have done."

"Probably _not_ leave it until a week before leaving to tell people," Courfeyrac mutters, just as there's an urgent knocking on the door.

"Enjolras." It's Combeferre, as the knocking continues. "Enjolras, please."

"He's probably looking for you," Enjolras says as he stands. "What do you want me to say to him?"

"I don't know. Whatever you want, but I don't want to talk to him right now. I don't think I can."

Enjolras nods. "I'll be back soon."

Courfeyrac wraps his hands around his mug and does his best not to listen to the conversation at the door. He's aided by the fact that their voices are hushed, but he can hear the pleading tone to Combeferre's voice all the same. Enjolras takes a while speaking to Combeferre before finally shutting the door.

"I told him that you'll talk to him when you're ready," Enjolras says as he returns to the couch. "He's not going to approach you in the meantime. He's sorry, for what it's worth. He knows that you have every right to be angry with him."

Courfeyrac nods, sighing quietly. "Thank you."

"Can I just ask…" Enjolras says hesitantly. "I suppose I've been wondering this for a while, but you and Combeferre…"

Courfeyrac laughs hollowly. "Doesn't really matter any more, does it?"

Enjolras frowns. "Courfeyrac…"

"It doesn't," Courfeyrac replies firmly. "I've never told him how I felt and there's no point in telling him now, is there?"

Enjolras squeezes Courfeyrac's shoulders, his frown deepening.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to drag you into this particular mess. That's why I never said anything about it before. It was meant to just be something between Combeferre and myself, but I guess it's just something I'm going to have to try and forget about now."

Enjolras makes a sad noise. "You know that this doesn't have to mean that we never see Combeferre again. He's our best friend, and I'm not willing to let go of that so easily."

"I know," Courfeyrac replies. "I _do_. It just… changes a lot, you know? I just wish he gave me more than a week to deal with the fact that he's _leaving_. I want to see him, but I also don't, because I know I'll still be angry with him and I know I'm going to have to say goodbye. I don't want to deal with that right now."

"Understandable." Enjolras gives Courfeyrac a reassuring smile. "If you need some time, that's fine. I'm here if you need me. If you want to stay for the night, you're welcome to."

"Can I?" Courfeyrac asks gratefully. "I think I might."

"I'll get the extra blankets out for you," Enjolras says, standing up.

Courfeyrac smiles at him. "You're the best."

«·»

Days pass and Courfeyrac continues to avoid Combeferre and the apothecary entirely. He doesn't even _want_ to, but every time he thinks of going to see Combeferre, he's hit with an unpleasant mix of anger and sadness that ends up making him feel too reluctant.

Two and a half days go by before Ink visits him, slipping in through his window as Courfeyrac returns from work.

"Hey, sweetie." Courfeyrac gives her a sad smile, reaching out a hand that she immediately nuzzles into. "Sorry I haven't come to see you in a while. It's not really _your_ fault."

She meows at him, and it's not the first time Courfeyrac has wished that he could understand her. He strokes his thumb over the soft fur at the top of her head and sighs.

"I can't see Combeferre. Not yet. I miss him but soon, you're both going to be gone and I'm going to miss you even more."

Ink meows at him, louder this time. Courfeyrac wonders if she sounds annoyed at him, or if he's just projecting.

"Just… give me a few more days, okay? I _will_ talk to him before he leaves. I'm not going to let him go without a goodbye. He knows that, right?"

Ink cuddles closer to him, rubbing her cheek against his palm. Courfeyrac supposes that even if Combeferre didn't know before, she's going to make sure that he does now. 

He leaves it for a little longer and he's not particularly surprised when, two nights later, there's a knock on his door.

He _is_ surprised when he sees that it's Enjolras, who frowns at him and asks, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Courfeyrac steps aside. "Of course."

"I'm here to talk about Combeferre," Enjolras says, as if Courfeyrac hasn't already realised. "I'm here to talk about what you mean to him."

Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Do you remember winter, a few years ago, when the snow came late? It was the day before our annual snowball fight and you were upset because it still didn't look like it was going to snow?"

"Yes, I remember that," Courfeyrac says, confused.

"And do you remember how overnight, we had so much snow that the entire town was blanketed in it? You said that it was perfect conditions for our snowball fight."

"What does this have to do with Combeferre?"

"He lost the snowball fight," Enjolras reminds him. "Spectacularly. Because he could barely keep his eyes open that day. Do you want to guess why that was? Why he was up the entire night before, while the snow was falling?"

"Oh," Courfeyrac says softly, his heart clenching. 

"Or that time that your parents' old house was falling apart because of that big storm, and Feuilly was out of town so he couldn't fix it for a while," Enjolras continues. "But the house stayed up all the same. And Combeferre came by to visit you every day and check on the damage. Do you know what he was actually doing?"

" _He_ kept the house up." Courfeyrac's eyes go wide. "But… Combeferre doesn't use his magic unless he's working. He helps out a lot around town, but not with magic."

"That's true most of the time," Enjolras says patiently, "but he's always made an exception for you. Just you. I'm not going to lead you to any conclusions you can't arrive at yourself, and I'm certainly not going to tell you anything he's specifically asked me not to. I'm just going to tell you that you need to speak to him, Courfeyrac. Sooner rather than later, and definitely before it's too late."

Courfeyrac nods. "Okay. I will."

"Combeferre is at my place at the moment," Enjolras tells him. "Incredibly nervous, because he knows I'm talking to you about this. Do you want me to send him over?"

Courfeyrac bites his lip, but finally nods. "Yeah. Do it."

With a relieved smile, Enjolras pats Courfeyrac's back. "I'll go home and send him over then."

The wait once Enjolras leaves feels like the longest ten minutes of Courfeyrac's entire life. He isn't even sure of what he's going to do or say once Combeferre arrives, coming up with ideas and discarding them just as quickly. He's still undecided when he finally hears the knock on his door and his hands are shaking as he goes to answer it.

Combeferre is standing there looking awkward and nervous, and Courfeyrac's first thought is of how badly he wants to kiss Combeferre. He decides not to act on it, stepping forward instead and standing on his tiptoes so he can wrap his arms around Combeferre in a tight hug.

He feels Combeferre stiffen with surprise before his strong arms encircle Courfeyrac in turn, face pressed into the curve of Courfeyrac's neck as he returns the hug just as tightly.

There's a meow from somewhere around Combeferre's feet, which makes him gasp out a quiet laugh and hold onto Courfeyrac even tighter.

"What did Ink say?" Courfeyrac asks quietly, content to stay in Combeferre's arms for the time being.

"In her words? _About fucking time_." Combeferre chuckles. "My cat has a foul mouth."

"Your cat's right, though." Courfeyrac shuts his eyes and breathes Combeferre in. "I'm sorry."

" _I'm_ sorry," Combeferre replies. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I'm sorry that I have to leave at all."

"Come inside," Courfeyrac says, finally letting go of Combeferre. 

They don't stay apart for long. They sit on the couch beside each other, Courfeyrac leaning into Combeferre's side until they end up with their arms around each other again. They don't speak because there's nothing to say. Courfeyrac isn't going to talk about how he feels when Combeferre is only a few days away from leaving and he doesn't need Combeferre to either. Their actions speak loud enough, as Courfeyrac tucks his head under Combeferre's chin and they find each other's hands. Combeferre strokes his thumb over Courfeyrac's knuckles and they're happy to be in each other's presence like this, with Ink curled up under the coffee table.

Combeferre takes a deep breath, turning his head slightly. "I'm not going to leave permanently. I'm coming back. Jehan isn't taking over the apothecary, just keeping it going until I can return."

"But you're not sure when that will be."

Combeferre sighs quietly. "No. It will be nice to see my mother again, but I don't really plan on staying there for very long. I'd give myself a year, maximum."

"Oh." Courfeyrac suddenly feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. "A year isn't so bad. Especially when I was fearing that I'd never see you again."

"I couldn't let that happen," Combeferre murmurs, tightening his grip on Courfeyrac again. "I can see why you'd be so angry, if you thought that I'd never return."

Courfeyrac looks up at Combeferre, his lips pressed together in a small frown. "That's what it sounded like to me."

"I'm sorry," Combeferre says softly, and repeats it until Courfeyrac hushes him, a thumb stroking over his lips, their foreheads resting against each other. 

Combeferre's breaths are shaky and Courfeyrac wants to kiss him so badly that he aches with it. He shuts his eyes tightly instead and wraps his arms around Combeferre's shoulders, hugging him tightly. "I'm going to miss you. Are we allowed to visit? Even if it's only for a day, or for the weekend."

"Of course you are," Combeferre replies, shifting until Courfeyrac is curled in his lap. "I would love for you to visit. The town is a little far, though."

"I don't care," Courfeyrac declares. "I'd travel for a week if it meant I could see you for a day."

Combeferre gives him a look of such fondness that it leaves Courfeyrac breathless. "It's not _that_ far. A few hours, if you're travelling without magic. I could reduce that to just a couple if I know when you're coming, so I can set up a few portals for you along the way. I can't do it often though, because it tends to take a lot of magic."

"We could visit you every few months," Courfeyrac says with a smile. "Maybe spend a week with you, to make up for the gaps in between. That won't be so bad."

Combeferre nods. "Yeah. You're right."

Combeferre stays until it's late and they're both yawning, then makes to get up. Courfeyrac stops him with a hand on his arm, but doesn't need to say a word. They look at each other and Combeferre wets his lips before looking away.

"Jehan is opening the shop tomorrow anyway."

Without another word, they go to Courfeyrac's bedroom together, crowding into his single bed. It's not the first time over the years that they've done this but it feels different now, from the tangle of their legs to their mingled breath as they share the pillow.

There's a slight weight added to the bed as Ink joins them, curling up by their feet. Courfeyrac desperately wishes that this was something that he had the chance to get used to. Perhaps when Combeferre returns, but that's too far away to think about right now.

"Good night," Combeferre murmurs, his hand warm and heavy on Courfeyrac's side.

It's an incredibly pleasant way to fall asleep.

«·»

In a town hidden between the trees and the changing winds, a light-hearted boy returns home a heavy-hearted man. There are weights upon him that are not easily shrugged off, thoughts that cling and make themselves difficult to ignore.

Combeferre manages for a moment, upon seeing his mother for the first time in ten years. She no longer seems quite as tall as he remembers, smiling up at him with happy tears in her eyes. He pulls her into a tight hug and the way she holds onto him just as tightly, the way she makes no attempt to pull away, brings his thoughts back to Courfeyrac, back to the way they'd reluctantly let go of each other before Combeferre finally left, to the way they'd whispered promises to send letters every week.

"You've changed a lot," his mother murmurs, her hand resting on his cheek. "I knew you would. Tell me everything. You and Ink must be tired. Sit down and I'll make some tea."

Combeferre tells his mother of the last ten years and she doesn't mind when he repeats things she's already read in his letters. Ink curls up against Nox, Madame Combeferre's cat, who grooms her before cuddling against her.

"You're in love," his mother says when he's done recounting their years apart. It's not an accusation, but he flinches all the same.

"No, I'm not."

"My darling, I can see the longing in your eyes and the weight on your shoulders. You're in love and you left him when you left your town. It hurt, didn't it?"

"It hurt him more," Combeferre says quietly. "I never put it into words."

"But he knows." She smiles at him. "Just as you knew he loves you."

"I hope he does."

She clicks her tongue. "I didn't raise you to doubt yourself. Ever since you were a little boy, you were always so certain in what you did and what you said. He loves you."

Combeferre sighs, then nods. "Yes he does."

"And what are you going to do about that?" She smiles at him. "I know you, and I know that you already have a plan."

"I'm going back, once I've finished my year here. In that time, he'll visit. So will Enjolras. You'll like them both, I'm certain of it."

Combeferre's mother gives him a fond look. "I've been looking forward to meeting them ever since your first letter to me, when you told me about the two boys who made friends with you when most of the town was still afraid."

He sighs loudly, but he's grinning. "The downside to having a fortune teller for a mother. I can never surprise you."

She laughs in reply. "I'm just glad you never went into fortune telling yourself. Our conversations would be much too circular. If you ever want me to look ahead and tell you what happens with Courfeyrac…"

"I won't," he replies immediately. "I'd rather find out in my own time."

She chuckles. "I knew you'd say that."

«·»

The first few months of Combeferre's absence pass both too quickly and too slowly for Courfeyrac's liking. He's busy with work and there's an upcoming position in the town council that he knows he'll be competing against Enjolras for. He doesn't like the thought of that and usually, it's the kind of thing that he would talk to Combeferre about. He mentions it in his weekly letters but it's just not the same. He comforts himself with the knowledge that they're not competing _yet_ and visits Jehan often, because his feet take him to the apothecary automatically whenever he needs to speak to someone, and because Jehan understands and listens.

Receiving letters from Combeferre quickly becomes his favourite part of the week. The mailman smiles at Courfeyrac knowingly as he hands over each week's letter and in return, Courfeyrac tells him that Combeferre is doing well, that he's spending his year working on the town's magic council, as all magic practitioners do after they complete their training, to better understand the relationship between magic and the rest of the world.

Then, finally, three months after Combeferre left, Courfeyrac and Enjolras have the time to take an entire week off work to visit Combeferre. Their letters turn into plans and instructions, with Jehan helping to set up the portals on their end. Most of the letters Combeferre sends are carefully stored away in a box but Courfeyrac clutches the one with their instructions tightly in his hand as they leave town, the paper already slightly worn from frequent touch where Combeferre has written, _I'll see you soon_.

The portals are easier to travel through than Courfeyrac expected, with Combeferre's detailed instructions making it easy to find the correct ones to step into. They continue until they're standing in front of a town that looks as if it's built among the trees, exuding so much magic that even Courfeyrac can feel it.

Combeferre is standing at the entrance to the town, looking mostly unchanged in their time apart. Ink is sitting by his feet and runs forward when she sees them, climbing up Courfeyrac's leg and settling into his arms. By the time they reach Combeferre, all three of them are smiling from ear to ear.

"It's good to see you again," Enjolras says, hugging Combeferre in greeting. "You look well."

"So do you," Combeferre replies. He pats Enjolras' shoulder as they pull apart, then turns to Courfeyrac and hesitates. "Ink, if you don't move out of the way, I might crush you."

Courfeyrac laughs as Ink leaps out of his arms, just before Combeferre pulls him close. True to his word, Combeferre hugs him tightly, until Courfeyrac stops laughing and is shaking instead, from how much he's missed this. Combeferre hugs him even tighter, until Ink meows at them.

"Right." Combeferre pulls away, giving Enjolras an embarrassed smile. "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologise," Enjolras replies, sounding amused. "But whenever you're ready, I _am_ excited to see your town for myself. Your letters have always made it sound so interesting."

"Darling, will you stop stalling?" a woman calls out, standing some distance away with her arms folded across her chest. She has a robe draped around her shoulders, a light blue that looks beautiful against her dark skin, and silver jewellery that shines in the light that filters through the trees. 

"Madame Combeferre," Courfeyrac says, because she can't possibly be anybody else. He walks towards her, smiling cautiously.

"And you're Courfeyrac," she replies, stepping forward and clasping his hands in her own. "My son has been beside himself with excitement for _days_ , my dear, all because of you two, and now he's keeping you out here instead of even inviting you in to put your bags down. Forgive him, he forgets things in his excitement. He takes after me in that regard."

"I do not," Combeferre argues, but his tone is light, his smile fond. It's everything Courfeyrac hoped to find after finally meeting Combeferre's mother. There's kindness in her eyes, in her smile, and strength in her posture and Combeferre takes after her in all the best ways. 

"I already have a pot of tea waiting," Madame Combeferre says, smiling as she links arms with both Courfeyrac and Enjolras. "This way."

The walk through the town itself leaves Courfeyrac breathless. The buildings are part of the trees around them, spiral staircases and sweeping walkways carrying them over branches and through hollowed trunks. Courfeyrac looks around in amazement as he walks and Combeferre takes his hand to keep him from wandering away or tripping over his own feet, a small, pleased grin tugging at his lips.

"This place is beautiful," he breathes, and Enjolras nods in agreement.

"I knew you'd like it," Combeferre replies. "I'm glad that you do."

Beautiful as it is, Courfeyrac also quickly discovers just how out of place he and Enjolras are, with no magic to speak of. In a place where everyone has the ability to speak to and understand familiars, half the conversations that they have are lost on him. He scrambles to fill in the gaps in the conversation that he doesn't have the magic to hear or understand, exchanging a small frown with Enjolras as he does the same. 

Combeferre notices, of course he does, and Courfeyrac feels guilty as he watches Combeferre's smile slip throughout the day. He doesn't bring it up until later that night, when the three of them are sharing his room.

Enjolras is already asleep, completely exhausted after spending most of his day watching Grantaire—an ex-fortune teller who purposefully failed his training and stopped practicing his magic—teach deaf children how to sign to their familiars. Combeferre has his own pillow and blankets set up on the floor, having given Enjolras and Courfeyrac his bed, but Courfeyrac joins him on the floor and they lie beside each other, still awake as they watch the stars through Combeferre's window. 

"You're unhappy," Combeferre says softly.

"I'm not," Courfeyrac replies, lying on his side so that he can watch Combeferre instead of the stars. "I'm here, with you, with Enjolras. I'm happy."

Combeferre gently traces the line of Courfeyrac's mouth with his thumb. "Please don't lie to me, Courfeyrac. If there's something you're unhappy about, if it's something I can fix—"

Shifting closer, Courfeyrac presses a kiss to Combeferre's jaw. "I don't think it's something that can be fixed, I'm afraid. It's just that Enjolras and I found it difficult to follow your conversations when your familiars were talking as well. Sometimes, it wasn't too hard to fill in the blanks but Ink is _talkative_ , isn't she?"

Combeferre laughs softly. "She is. I didn't even think of that, I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologise," Courfeyrac interrupts. "It's not your fault."

"I'll be more careful from now on," Combeferre promises, wrapping his arm around Courfeyrac and holding him close. "I'll do what I can to make sure that you can follow our conversations."

"I appreciate it," Courfeyrac replies with a small smile, and doesn't mention that the problem itself is that once again, he's finding it impossible to ignore the fact that it feels like they're from completely different worlds.

«·»

Courfeyrac's winter starts with Enjolras beating him for the position on the town council.

He's happy for Enjolras, he truly is, he's proud of his friend and that softens any sting that would have otherwise come from not getting the position himself. However, it also means that Enjolras suddenly has to deal with a much bigger workload than before, and he's no longer free to visit Combeferre with Courfeyrac, as they'd previously planned.

The thought of going to Combeferre's hometown on his own is an unpleasant one, as much as Courfeyrac is looking forward to seeing Combeferre and everyone else there again. Being there with Enjolras meant that at least when he felt out of place, he wasn't the only one. This time, he'll have nobody to look to for solidarity. He'll do what he can to pretend to follow conversations even when he isn't, because as much as Combeferre can try to keep Courfeyrac included, the conversations tend to flow far too quickly anyway. 

He does his best to ignore all of that, pushing it out of his mind and focusing on the fact that he's going to see Combeferre. Jehan makes him a stronger talisman this time, to replace the one he received for his birthday. The stone is smoother and instead of a protection rune carved onto its flat surface, it's a directional rune to keep him from getting lost.

"I have Combeferre's directions," Courfeyrac reassures Jehan with a smile. "You know how thorough they are. But thank you, all the same."

"I'll send Edgar to watch over you for the first two portals," Jehan tells him. "For my own peace of mind, really. From then on, you'll be on your own and as you've already told me, you'll be fine."

"Perfectly fine," Courfeyrac agrees, hugging Jehan tightly. "Keep an eye on Enjolras for me, will you? Make sure he doesn't overwork himself." 

Unsurprisingly, the trip to Combeferre's hometown is an easy one, each step of the way clearly written out for him. When Courfeyrac arrives this time, he's greeted by Grantaire, rather than Combeferre. 

"Your loud friend isn't with you," he says by way of greeting. "Hm, Combeferre said something about him being too busy. He sent me to collect you from the portal, because he's busy at the moment."

"Council stuff?" Courfeyrac asks, falling into step with Grantaire as they walk into the town.

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't really get told a lot of what happens around here. Arachne fills me in when she can, but there's a lot about magic that we don't really get because we never learned it ourselves."

"Doesn't that bother you?" Courfeyrac asks, frowning. 

Grantaire shrugs. "I knew what I was giving up. It was worth it, to me. We have some great fortune tellers among our numbers, and Madame Combeferre is better than most. I was on the other end of the scale. The problem with fortune telling is that people only want to hear the good things. They don't see it as a magical art, just a parlour trick, something for their entertainment. They don't want you to warn them about the bad things to come, and I never had the subtlety to work what I knew into the conversation in a way that wouldn't make me sound like some kind of omen. There are ways that people without much magic can contribute around here anyway." 

"I've seen you do it," Courfeyrac says. "I've seen you teaching the children. The adults, too. Enjolras mentioned that last time we were here, he saw you teaching someone with a broken leg how to teleport themselves to where they wanted, even though you couldn't do it yourself."

Grantaire looks embarrassed and ducks his head. "I understand the basics behind the spells. Besides, whoever designed this town clearly thought everyone was as able-bodied as they were. Do you know what it's like to have to climb three different flights of stairs, just to get to a lesson? It doesn't make you want to teach, I'll tell you that."

They walk to Combeferre's house and find him sitting at his desk, something clutched tightly in his left hand.

"Here's where I leave you," Grantaire says, and waggles his eyebrows at Courfeyrac. "Enjoy your stay. I'll see you around."

Combeferre waits until Grantaire is gone before rising to his feet, crossing the room with long strides and pulling Courfeyrac into his arms. Courfeyrac hugs him just as tightly in return and they hold each other's gaze as they slowly pull apart.

"I have something for you," Combeferre announces, opening his palm. He's holding a beaded bracelet, made of black thread and dark stone, smoothed into perfect spheres. Upon closer look, Courfeyrac realises that there are runes carved onto each individual bead.

"Is this a talisman?" he asks, voice quiet with awe as he picks it up. "Did you make it?"

"I did," Combeferre replies and pauses, the way he always does when he's searching for the right words, "and it's not exactly a talisman. It's similar, but more powerful. It doesn't work unless I'm the one to make it and I'm the one to put it on you, but when you're wearing it, you'll be able to understand familiars. Mine, and everyone else's too."

Courfeyrac's eyes go wide. "You made this for me?"

"I didn't want this to be like last time," Combeferre tells him. "I didn't want you to feel left out, or as if you couldn't connect with part of who I am. Can I put it on you?"

Nodding, Courfeyrac hands the bracelet over and holds his wrist out. Combeferre secures it in place and then hesitates, his gaze flicking up to Courfeyrac's face.

"I need to kiss your wrist. Part of the ritual."

"Don't tell me you're shy," Courfeyrac teases and Combeferre huffs quietly in amusement, his lips still curved into a smile as he presses them to the bracelet and Courfeyrac's wrist.

"Does it work?" Combeferre asks. He raises his voice a little and calls, "Ink?"

"Napping, leave me alone," comes the reply, and it makes Courfeyrac's eyes go wide. Her voice sounds exactly as he imagined it would, smooth, not pitched too high, and confident.

"Courfeyrac's here," Combeferre says, catching Courfeyrac's eye and grinning. 

"Ooh, Courfeyrac!" she exclaims, running into the room. "You told me you'd wake me up before he arrived, you just wanted him to yourself for a bit didn't you? You filthy liar."

Laughing softly, Courfeyrac turns to Ink. "I'm sorry, I'll have to make sure I spend some quality time with you to make up for it, okay?"

Her ears twitch with surprise. "You understand me! Combeferre gave you the bracelet after all, then. He's been agonising over it for weeks now."

"I love it," Courfeyrac murmurs. He looks at Combeferre, beaming. It might be the bracelet, it might be the fact that they're alone with each other besides Ink, it might be the way Combeferre is watching him, or it might be a combination of all of these things, but with a sudden surge of courage, Courfeyrac adds, "I love you."

Combeferre's expression softens and he reaches for Courfeyrac's hands, squeezing them gently. "I love you too."

"See?" Ink sounds happy, relieved and amused, all at once. "Was that so fucking hard?"

"Harder than you know," Combeferre mutters in reply. "Give us a moment, Ink?"

"I'll give you the rest of the afternoon," Ink replies. She winds between their legs on her way out, purring at them. "I'll make sure Nox and your mother give you some space, too."

Courfeyrac turns back to Combeferre once Ink is gone and they grin at each other, looking away before looking at each other once again. 

"I've wanted to kiss you for years," Combeferre says, his tone so casual that he could be talking about the weather, rather than making all of Courfeyrac's wildest dreams come true in one sentence. "I can't remember a time when I _didn't_ want to kiss you, to be entirely honest with you."

Courfeyrac laughs softly, tilting his face up. "Maybe you should do something about that." 

"I should," Combeferre agrees, stepping closer and cupping Courfeyrac's face in both his hands. "But before I do, I just wanted to make it clear that I want you to be part of my life. All of my life. The parts with magic and the parts without. I love you, and the bracelet isn't just about letting you in on Ink's penchant for terrible puns. It's about giving you a part of me."

Courfeyrac smiles. "I _want_ to be part of your life. I want to understand all of it, even if I don't have magic myself."

Leaning in so that their noses are brushing against each other, Combeferre smiles. "I love you."

"I said it first," Courfeyrac replies, grinning. "Now hurry up and kiss me."

Laughing softly, Combeferre does. He kisses Courfeyrac, and doesn't stop kissing him for the rest of the afternoon, until they're lying in Combeferre's bed, their hair tousled, their lips bruised. They lie there, heads resting against each other as they pant softly for breath, fingers linked, and Courfeyrac's never felt happier in his entire life.

"Once upon a time," he murmurs into the comfortable silence, "a witch-boy came to a town that wasn't used to magic, and it caused quite an uproar."

Combeferre's lips spread into a smile. "Did it, now?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Courfeyrac replies, shaking his head gravely. "In fact, it caused such a fuss that I had to go and investigate."

"Had to," Combeferre echoes.

"I found the witch-boy," Courfeyrac continues. "And my first thought was, this couldn't possibly be the one causing all the trouble. He was gentle, polite, intelligent, confident, beautiful. He was the kindest soul I'd ever met."

"Courfeyrac," Combeferre says with an embarrassed laugh.

"I'm glad for that day," Courfeyrac tells him. "So, incredibly glad that Enjolras and I decided to come see you. That we spoke to you. That we befriended you."

Kissing Courfeyrac deeply, Combeferre gives him a fond look. "So am I."


End file.
